Netfluck

Dear ignorant majority of Netflix subscribers who didn’t see this coming,

I’m with you. I don’t want to have to pay an extra six bucks for something I currently don’t have to pay an extra six bucks for. That really sucks. I feel your pain.

But not all of it.

I am unqualified in every way to speak about owning a business, but last I checked, Netflix is a for-profit company whose mission statement likely has nothing to do with charity to the underpaid public. And yet over 67,000 people have posted comments on their facebook post about the rate increase. Wow. They may not all be sophomoric flailings at an invisible piñata since I only read 7 of them, but I’m guessing it doesn’t get much better. The poor, scorned consumers are whining about business ethics to a deaf, capitalist superpower. They provide a service that has proven to be valuable in this society. Heck, I’m surprised it took them this long.

So now what? What’s the plan? You gonna get all emotionally dumb and dump them just to prove a point. That you don’t need Netflix. And maybe they’ll show up at your bedroom window with a boombox playing an overrated Peter Gabriel song? Well you go ahead, Ione Skye, but I’m going to think with my head, not my bruised whatever. Because I don’t get upset just because everybody around me gets upset, which is really all this is, you know. Sorry you’re that emotionally insecure, but I think the outcry is what is causing the outcry.

OK, getting back. You drop your Netflix service. Then what? Redbox and Hulu+? Probably $16 a month right there. And you figure out how inconvenient Redbox really is. Or you only watched 23 streaming movies last year so you can do without that piece. But now that you don’t have access to every Quantum Leap episode whenever you want, you REALLY need it. I know. I was there too. Maybe Blockbuster? I think it’s cute they’re still trying. Maybe this will open up the door for them to mount one last dying grasp from the grave. But for now, they still don’t have that online element either. And I doubt they could mount a legit counterattack anyway with all the movies that Netflix has probably under contract. Illegal torrent sites? If my work computer didn’t double as my home computer, I probably wouldn’t even know about this Netflix situation. If you’re up for the gamble, enjoy.

So here’s what’s really gonna happen. You’re gonna get pissed and drop Netflix. You’ll likely survive on the return of the fall TV season for a while. Maybe even football will be back. But there’s gonna be a moment. Because you won’t be able to find the original Planet of the Apes anywhere. ANYWHERE. Seriously. And tail between your legs and maybe saving some pride because you held out longer than your sister-in-law, you’ll be back. Because $16 a month for what they offer is still a flipping good deal. And they know it.

But I understand that you’re upset because of the way they delivered the news. They didn’t pretend they were introducing any new features and we hate it when people treat us like adults. They should have told us that each subscription came with magic beans and then backtalked their way out of it when they didn’t work. That’s the American way. It worked for Comcast.

Excuse me. I mean Xfinity.

So go ahead. Whine and complain if you want. Drop the service if you want. Write “GO NETFLUCK YOURSELF” on the return pouch if you like. But get used to not having a say in everything that you rely on. It’s immature and egotistic. They don’t owe you anything. And as of September, you owe them another six bucks a month, which is really only one less trip to Starbucks.

Dad Memories: The Bathtub

The Bathtub

Sometime in my late twenties, I found my dad’s old bicycle helmet. And in this case, “bicycle” means “Harley,” not “Huffy.” Next to the odd-man-out-pick-up-truck-ski-lift, this was the greatest innovation in downhill sledding in the Greater Valley Forge area since 1955. It was no longer completely unsafe to go down face-first skeleton-style. Once you got passed the initial gag reflex to close your eyes in the face of such danger on a dimly lit 30 degree grade hill, you could just barely see passed the wall of snow shooting up from the front of the toboggan. Why since 1955? No, not because that’s when the flux capacitor was invented. Because that’s when the bathtub was invented.

The bathtub wasn’t so much invented then; I’m sure it had been around for a lot longer than that. But this is the first time in recorded history that someone was stupid enough to think it would be a good idea to pile a bunch of 7-year old kids in it and push it down a steep hill into the woods. And this is not one of the bathtubs we’re all familiar with now. This is a solid marble (or whatever) Cialis-looking bathtub.

I can’t imagine they had really planned ahead for how this would end, because every scenario looks pretty bleak. But I guess that’s part of the fun of being stupid. The Sixth Sense would have been much less entertaining if I knew how it was going to end.

From what I gather from his telling of the story, there were about 8 kids in this tub. I’m not sure how or if it stayed upright on the way down the hill. All I really know about the decent down the hill are two things. My father was lucky because he was light and he bounced out early. And by the time the trip was over, there were about 5 or 6 broken arms and legs.

Despite his telling of the story, I have still never managed to try sled down a hill into the woods in a solid marble bathtub. And I’m kinda glad he didn’t tell me about this story when I was young and stupid enough to try it, because there’s a very good chance Mike DeStephano and I would have found a tub and it would have likely ended up shattered in 40 pieces on Prospect Ave with 3 or 4 kids still inside it.

Dad Memories: One Blind Mouse

One Blind Mouse

A lot of the computer knowledge that most members of our generation take for granted is probably as foreign to members of the previous generation as planes are to cod. And my dad was not the sharpest cod in the drawer. I’ll excuse him the time that he accidentally deleted a document and instinctively reached toward the monitor to catch it like Coach did in Poltergeist. However, he called me in Maryland to tell me of an internet connection problem caused by the lack of a mouse pad. I thought this to be another one of his pranks and played along. But this was a joke that he wasn’t in on.

I drove the two hours north and handed him a Scarface mouse pad. It didn’t help, which was of course no surprise to me. “Well no shit it doesn’t work now. The thing hasn’t had a thing since you brought it here.” Loosely interpreted through his body language, he still blamed the mouse pad. And by now, it was of course too late as the mouse had already been contaminated from prolonged unprotected mousing and I “didn’t know shit about shit.” He bought a new mouse on his own this time.

After I rewired the motherboard in front of him to fix his internet connection issue, he was still proud of his diagnosis and problem-solving ability and convinced it was the new mouse that made all the difference. Now he could get back to his internet poker and hotornot.com.

Dad Memories: Cheaters Always Win

Cheaters Always Win

While some folks were getting their college degrees and finding a niche in the workforce, dad was hustling pool and poker to get his money, and not always honestly. When I came back from a two-week vacation in Myrtle Beach in 2004, I told him that it was the first time since I graduated college in 1998 that I had 2 weeks in a row without work. He retorted “Wow, Dus. I don’t think I worked for two weeks straight since 1998.” Thanks. Rub it in, pop.

My dad admittedly grew up on the other side of the tracks. He told me once reluctantly about a time when he fixed a deck to get some money from people he barely knew. After the cut, he sneezed with one hand and stuck the other hand into his lap to switch the decks in a classic misdirection move. He said it was dangerous and he was really hard up for some money at the time and didn’t speak of it with any pride. I’ve done this many a time in strip poker with varying success. When people are drunk and naked and insecure, nobody really watches the dealer. A little tip for you newbies out there.

But then there was one time that he was happy to tell me about a cheat he pulled. This time there were multiple people in on it and though it was in a game for money, that wasn’t really the point. It wasn’t about the money. It was about the funny.

He was at a buddy’s place playing poker with five other people, including his brother Mark. He and Frankie stacked a deck and planned to get this one guy they wanted to mess with to stay in and throw all his money in on a losing hand. My dad walks in the kitchen, which was just behind Frankie’s chair but off to the side. Just as Frankie says “CUT” and hands the cards over to whoever was cutting, my dad asks where the paper towels are. Frankie takes the deck in his hand and uses that hand to point in the direction of the kitchen. His hand is behind the kitchen door and out of sight for just a moment while he points and that’s when my dad takes his deck and replaces it with this elaborately planned ruse.

What was supposed to happen is that Frankie and this other guy were supposed to be in the hand, with the other guy being the aggressor and Frankie calling and eventually catching a straight flush to beat out this guy’s full house. The two of them followed the script for the most part with one exception. My Uncle Mark was trying to bluff them out. He had been dealt 3-5 and decided to protect his little blind, despite a hefty raise from someone with pocket Ks.

The flop comes up 10-7-K, giving the target of this elaborate scam top trips on the flop. Mark now has K-10-7-5-3 with no chance for a flush. He decides to bluff. Trip Ks raises him and Frankie smooth calls with a straight flush draw and the knowledge that he will get that straight flush draw, thus making it basically a straight flush already.

Mark gets pissed off at the raise and calls. My dad shakes his head and, knowing what Mark has, shoots him a look. I don’t know quite what a look of “Get the hell out of this hand; we’re fucking with this guy over here!” looks like. Apparently neither did Mark.

A 7 hits on the turn. The target now has a full house, as was carefully planned; Frankie has not gotten closer at all, but still has one card (his card) coming; and Mark has the same pair of 7s everyone else has and two cards that probably won’t play. And Mark comes out firing. This betting sequence is no longer coming from a place of strategy, but a place of anger and arrogance. Full House raises and Frankie once again calls. Mark re-raises and offers to show his penis. Again, my dad shoots the same look, but as intense as he feels he can give it without arousing suspicion. Frankie now shoots him the same look. Defensively, Mark shoots a look back that says “I GOT A FUCKING HAND, OK!” Full House and Frankie call.

Frankie’s card hits on the river, the 6 that will complete the 6-7-8-9-10 straight flush. Mr Full House has a hand that could only be beat by the 8-9 of spades OR the remaining two 7s, making it a 2 in 1,980 chance that he’ll lose. Mark’s hand can be beaten or tied by literally every possible hand. His hole cards don’t even play. This is an embarrassment. Finally, he checks to the relief of my father. Full House goes all in and Frankie calls. “This is bullshit!” exclaims Mark and throws his hand into the muck. The target shows his cards and Frankie shows one of the two hands in 1980 that beat Full House. Frankie and my dad start to laugh. Full House stands up and yells out “You fuckers set me up!” But jokingly. Five people erupt in laughter after watching this whole display. There are six people there.

“So this is what you guys do? This is what you guys thinks is funny?! You just fuck with people’s money like that shit?! You can all kiss my f*#%ing ass!” Mark grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, knocking it over.

“What didja have?” asked my dad, coy as a fish.

“Fuck you.”

After he was gone and the money was returned to everyone but Mark – who now had store credit – Full House asked my dad what they gave him.

“I think we gave him 3-5 off.”

“Wow. Unlucky bastard.”

Happy Father's Week 2011

Happy Father’s Week 2011

Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers out there! I just finished watching Big Fish and bawling my eyes out, which has been a Father’s Day routine of mine since he passed back in 2005. And since way back in 2010 (not a misprint), I’ve been running a Father’s Week tradition on this website where I’ll post a different story about my father every day of the week directly after Father’s Day. Or at least when I get around to it, hopefully sometime soon. Fred Frey told me shortly after my dad’s passing that the Native Americans believe in two deaths: the death of the body – which I’m assuming you can all figure out on your own, and the death of the soul – which occurs when the last story about a person is told. So as long as people keep telling stories about a person, that person’s soul will live on. According to Indians. Which I don’t think really exist anymore. Except for those that run casinos. Which happens to be something my father could get behind anyway. So I’m rolling with it for another year. It gives me a good reason to pour some energy into thinking about my father and into writing.

Since Father’s Day 2010, I have inherited another two fathers. My mom married a man named Dennis last November. He certainly treats her well and loves her and she loves him back. But as I am 36 years old and (somewhat) independent, I don’t really call him my dad. And I think that’s a pretty well understood dynamic. Again, he’s a great guy and I suppose technically a step-father, but I’m old enough to be a father (really, a grandfather at this point), so he will remain Dennis.

The other man, however, is the father of my lovely new bride, Tom Morrison. He was not fortunate enough to have a son and though he lives in Texas, somehow doesn’t like football, but he is a man I’m happy to call my dad. Which is something I can’t necessarily say for Jenn (zing!). See, I can kid since we’re family and all. Anyway, Happy Father’s Day, Daddy Morrison.

But everyone knows my father was one of a kind and I am sorry for everyone who didn’t have the fortune to meet him. When asked who my comedic inspirations are, I list him as #1 and Paul Reiser as #2. So you should enjoy the next couple posts. Check out last year’s stories in the upper right of the page or below and be sure to check back in the next few days for some more Dustin’s Dad stories.